Why Do You Want What You Can't Have?
by Grace Kay
Summary: You watch and you love and you can't allow yourself to have. A deeper look at Isabela, and a study in writing second-person POV, all wrapped into one.


_A/N: Hello! So my muse has been silent on O Seeker for a bit, but it's finally been speaking to me again. I guess it really wanted to finish this little one-shot (well, not little - 5500 words isn't little) before I continued with Zanneth. Now that this is done, OS3 has been flowing again._

 _So this story came out of an idea I had for Isabela. She turns you down for romance and tells you all the reasons why feelings are bad. Then, if you're me and totally in love with romancing Merrill, she watched you woo and then get together with Merrill. We know Isabela has the capability for feelings to happen, but it takes her a long time to accept them. So what if, while she's feeling her feelings, she has to watch Hawke so easily move on and love the shit out of someone else?_

 _THEN I got interested in playing with writing in second-person. I wanted to see if I could do it well. Most of the time it's weird and awkward and jarring. I wanted to see if I could avoid those descriptors._

 _Second-person fit the best with this idea, so I took a stab at it. Raven Sinead says I did an okay job. What do you think?_

 _(Also, we came up with a new title for her. She is my beta-beast. You're welcome.)_

 _One final thing: the first section has some more than suggestiveness, though it's not actual smut. You are forewarned._

* * *

 _Why Do You Want What You Can't Have?_

They are happy. They smile, giggle, laugh. You frown, and take another drink.

This is pathetic.

 _You_ are pathetic.

"Rivaini, deal the cards!"

You grimace, putting your cup down and tearing your eyes away. Really, if they're going to be like that, they should go get a room. Why are they being so lovey-dovey in the Hanged Man? What kind of warrior _is_ Hawke?

You deal the cards, but you can't keep your eyes off of them. Marian gets up to order another round, and you watch her shapely arse trail off to the counter. You remember it unclothed. You remember the pale skin taking on the orange glow of the candles, the firelight. You remember the thrill of the tall, strapping warrior carrying you to her opulent bed, throwing you down like you weighed nothing. You remember the sounds she made, the way her pink lips parted in gasps and sighs as she held you down by the wrists and ground herself on your mouth. She took her pleasure from you, and you came apart.

Your eyes shift, and you see Merrill is watching her, too. You never slept with Merrill, but you have a healthy imagination. Merrill's red lips must look so enticing when they part. Does Elvish fall from her lips in the heat of passion? Does Hawke hold her down and dominate her like she did you? Does Hawke carry her around like she did you? Merrill must weigh nothing. The things you could do with that little elf…

Drink. Drink, and forget about them. This is what you wanted. Feelings complicate things.

 _Who ever said anything about feelings? Sex feelings. I'm having sex feelings_.

Ah, but you're having more than that. Yes, you're imagining Marian suspended above you, holding you down by the neck and making you take her whole hand. But you're also imagining sticking around afterward this time, letting her care for you like she had wished to, letting her clean you up and hold you while your pounding heart returns to normal. You want more than her taste and her skin, more than her domineering presence holding you down.

And Merrill. You imagine more than picking her up and throwing her around. You have grown fond of Kirkwall's most heartwarming bloodmage.

 _Of course I have. She's like a sister_.

No she isn't. You think of her differently. True, you don't think of her like you think of Marian. You wish to show your affection, to hold her and care for her and love her. You wish to bed her, but you wish for more. You wish to wile away an afternoon naked in that little hovel of hers, staring at her bony planes and tracing the _vallaslin_ upon her face with your fingers. You wish to get lost in her. You wish to lose all trace of time with her. You wish to cover her, and have her cover you.

How did you let this happen, pirate? You're better than this. Feelings complicate everything. Somehow you let them in.

And now they sit together, Merrill on Marian's lap, cuddling while getting drunker and handsier. And you can't keep your eyes away.

It's your turn to deal again. You haven't even bothered to cheat once yet.

You're trying to push these thoughts away. You drink more. You suddenly become cutthroat in playing cards. But you can't keep it up. They're _right there_. Next to you. You can smell them. Merrill smells like the woods, dark and earthy, tree bark and pine. Marian smells of steel and leather. The two of them together… it would be the most wonderful of mixed scents, along with your own scents of sea spray and salt-stained wood, pitch with the underlying tar that always accompanies it. Your bodies would entwine, pale and pale and copper, the most delicious of sounds falling from three pairs of lips…

You get up, announce you are going to bed. Incredulous looks follow you. You turn and take your winnings, and they aren't so incredulous anymore. You barely care for the coin in this moment, but you know what they expect from you.

You make it to your room, dump the coin on the small writing table in the corner, light a single candle. You pull off your boots, splash water on your face, remove your weapons. You sit on your bed, sigh, lie back. Visions float before your eyes, unbidden. They are disjointed, but oh so provocative, and your fingers stray beneath the waistband of your leggings.

Marian bends you over her bed, spreading your legs. Two, three, four fingers shove inside of you, and you scream into the mattress. You lie on your back, and Marian straddles your hips, grinning while she holds your hands away from her. Merrill's thin wrist is so easy to hold, to direct. The elf is so light. You push Merrill onto her little bed in the corner of her little bedroom and dip your tongue in to taste. You push her against the wall and devour her mouth. You fight back against Marian, and she just laughs, slaps your cheek, and your center floods with arousal. Marian fists Merrill's ebony locks, pulling her head back to expose her throat, allowing you to taste. Merrill lies on her back and you pleasure her, all while Marian is behind you, filling you up, distracting you, making your job harder and harder as you get closer and closer to release.

You buck against your own hand, on your own bed, the images vivid, the taste and scent and feel of skin on skin almost real. As you come back together, you imagine the feel of being lifted, pushed under the blankets on that great bed, two warm, cherished bodies pressing to either side of you. Your eyelids flutter and you grow drowsy to the thoughts, which drift smoothly into dreams of the two women you will not allow yourself to love.

* * *

You run. You are a coward. The Tome of Koslun is tucked safely under your arm, and you ride from Kirkwall on a "borrowed" horse. They will not think to look for you on the road. They will assume you took to the sea.

But what will happen to the women you love?

You left them to deal with your mess. Castillon will get off your back, but what is the price? The qunari know you havethe tome, they saw you take it in that warehouse. They know you are Marian's companion. They will take their ire out on her.

 _There is no guarantee they'll punish her._ _ **I**_ _was the one who took it. Besides, Marian's a big girl. She has Aveline. Noting will happen to her._

But what of Merrill?

 _Merrill…_

Merrill is not a big girl. She doesn't like to kill. Even when she wields blood magic, it is only her own blood she uses. The Arishok is ruthless, will not see her innocence. He will only see _serabaas_ and he will strike, merciless. Can you trust Marian to protect her?

 _Of course Marian will protect her. She loves her_.

So simple. Is that protection contingent on returned affection? Do you love her any less for the lack of reciprocation? Do you not owe the object of your affection your protection? You run with the item that will save them both.

 _Balls. I can't believe I'm doing this_.

It takes longer than you like, but finally you abandon the horse at the doors of the viscount's keep and march inside. The Tome of Koslun makes an excellent weapon as you bludgeon the qunari guarding the throne room. You return it, "mostly undamaged," but the Arishok claims he must take you. You try to duel him, but he will only duel Marian, and the bloody fool accepts.

You watch with bated breath as she dodges the two giant blades. Merrill clings to you, and you cling back. For once you can share this love for Marian with the elf. You are secretly relieved that Merrill is, for the time being, safe, and in your arms. You cannot help but take some small measure of comfort, of pleasure, at that feeling. You had hoped to save them both. But you at least managed to ensure Merrill's safety. Even if Marian loses and you go back to Par Vollen with the qunari, they will have what they want and will touch no one else.

Of course, then Marian would be dead and you would be leaving Merrill alone to mourn you both.

Marian kills the Arishok in the end, but is near-fatally wounded herself. You shout, rush to her side, Merrill to the other side. Marian is dragged out, down the steps, to her own door, where finally Anders can push you aside and work his magic, away from Meredith's watchful gaze. You are shoved out of the study, where Hawke was dragged, both you and Merrill. Anders needs space to save the warrior's life.

Merrill clings to you. She weeps, she shakes her head, she trembles. You hold her and you hold in your own tears. Marian is not yours to weep for. Varric and Aveline do not weep. Not even slimy Gamlen weeps, and Marian is related to him. Only Merrill does, and she has every right, as the newly-dubbed Champion's lover.

Marian doesn't wake up until the next day. Anders did all he can with healing magic. The rest must happen on its own. The good news is Marian will hold a sword again. But it will take time, and she needs someone to care for her. You stay at the mansion, even though Bodhan and Merrill can take care of her. You change bandaging and make bad jokes and sleep on a settee in the sitting room. Maker knows you've had far less comfortable beds.

One morning you wake to find Merrill in the room. She is calling your name softly. "'Bela?"

You open your eyes fully, stretch, sit up. "What's wrong, Kitten?"

She is in your arms in seconds, hugging you fiercely. Maker, but she smells so good. She _feels_ so good. It is enough to make you drunk.

"Thank you, Isabela," Merrill is saying into your neck, and an involuntary shiver travels down your spine. "Thank you for coming back. Thank you for trying to save us, for saving all those people the qunari would have killed. Thank you for staying here and helping. I don't think I could have done this alone. You're my very best friend, and I just… thank you."

You smile, and your heart breaks. You don't want to be her best friend. You want to kiss her. But you cannot. You say something comforting, reassuring, and she smiles, squeezes you tighter for a moment, and releases you. You walk to Marian's room together.

It is a week before Marian can get up and attempt walking around without help. Merrill finally begins sleeping in the warrior's bed again. You make noise about leaving, but neither of them will have it. They feed you, joke with you, thank you, ply you with the _good_ wine and insist you sleep on something more substantial than that settee. Marian gives you other clothes and has Bodhan wash the ones you came here in. The fit is off, but you only need to wear it for an afternoon.

You wear it much longer. It smells like Marian.

You are restless. And wistful. You watch them together and your heart pangs. Sometimes you feel Marian's eyes on you, after you have looked away too late. You feel as though you've been caught, and heat inexplicably rushes to your cheeks. Each time you hurriedly busy yourself with something, anything, and leave the room, relieved to be away. You cannot take this anymore. Their love is going to kill you.

You decide to leave despite their protestations. In the middle of the night you pack your things. How did you accumulate things to pack? You dress in your own clothes, leaving Marian's folded nicely on the cot that had been brought into the study for you. Your corset fits like an old friend, the poet's tunic open to let your girls breathe, like always. The leggings are tight, as they should be, and the boots are like a second skin. And yet still you feel… off. You have been in one place too long, and leaving it does not bring you joy.

You make it to the door before you hear your name.

"Leaving in the dead of night, without even a goodbye? I thought we were past that, 'Bela."

It is Hawke, and your cheeks heat. Why are you ashamed?

She comes closer, and you turn, your heart beating to have her so close. "Why are you leaving, Isabela? Are you not happy with our company?"

You say nothing. You can't tell the truth, but it has become harder to lie.

She raises a brow, cocks her head to the side. "You're not going to say anything, then? Fine. Leave. But know that I see how you look at Merrill. I just wanted to know, to hear it from your lips… are you in love with her?"

You freeze. Yes, you are in love with her. But it's so much more complicated than that. Because you are in love with Marian, too. You are in love with them both. You are in love with their love, as well. To put it simply… you want in on what they share with each other. You don't just want each of them individually. You want them as a pair.

You cannot say anything. Isabela, the pirate who can talk her way out of anything, is at a loss for words, for the first time in her life. What will people think?

Marian gives up, shaking her head and turning around. "Have a nice life, Isabela. You could have had more if you weren't so afraid to let people in."

You flee like a coward into the night. And you keep going. You run and run and run and you don't look back until you talk your way onto a ship.

* * *

Somehow you find your way back to Kirkwall. It's something simple. You've managed to become first mate on this vessel, and you play cards in your off time on the ship, find willing partners to screw when you're in port. As you play cards, you talk about Varric and his stories. You're wistful. You miss having friends. But you've done a good job of not letting anyone closer than skin-deep while you've been away.

But then you see the City of Chains in the distance, and you question your captain.

"You talk so much about it, I figure you'd be _thrilled_ , Isabela," he says, gruff, as is his way. You purse your lips and walk away. You have no business questioning the captain. He's allowed to take all of you wherever he wants. You would have liked to know, but nothing can be done about that now.

Your heart begins to race as you watch the city grow closer. You know who is there. You know how you left them. Should you avoid your old haunts? Should you act like nothing has changed? Should you just stay on the ship and drink with those left to watch? Snow begins to fall as you stand sentry, and you realize with a sinking dread what might be happening.

"We're wintering in this shithole of a city, lads!" the captain finally yells. "Wasn't the plan, but the snows have come early and my ship isn't built for ice. Come to me for your final pay, and if you're still around in the spring, you'll be first in line to sail with me out of here!"

He comes to stand next to you, hand roughly falling on your shoulder. "You talk about it so fondly, I figured we could make the little extra push before the snows start. We barely made it, but we're here. Have a good winter with your friends, Isabela. If you want to leave in the spring, come find me. You're a damn fine first mate, even though I'm fairly sure you were a pirate once upon a time, given all the stories you tell about captaining a ship. I'm willing to ignore that to have you back."

He leaves, and your heart couldn't sink lower. Fuck, you say. Fuck fuck fuck. What will you do?

The ship docks and the sailors leave with their canvas bags over their shoulders and full purses at their hips. Further north, stopping sailing for the winter isn't a problem. But the Free Marches are far south enough to be covered in ice and snow through winter. Some vessels can handle it. This little merchant cutter you've been serving on just can't, however. You join your men, looking much the same as when you left. Sure, your skin is a little more weathered from the sea, your shirt is a new one, and you wear a large hat over your blue bandana to keep the sun out of your eyes. You're told it's a rather fetching look.

 _What will Merrill think of it? She'd probably love it. Marian will laugh, but she won't say it looks bad._

Ah, so it hasn't left. You thought you rid yourself of those two. But here they in your thoughts, immediately. Love doesn't leave. You learned _that_ the hard way, with your sailor boy who asked you to marry him all those years ago. You left him, but your love for him didn't leave you. He has his own little chamber in your heart, and it'll never open again, but never will you crush it, either.

It is the same for Marian and Merrill, apparently.

How long has it been? Over two years, you think. Definitely, this is the third winter since you left. Are they still together, living up in that mansion in Hightown? How is everyone else? You need to see Varric, at least. Maybe he'll even have some advice for your situation.

 _I can't go to Varric for this. He's even more uncomfortable talking about feelings than I am._

What better person? And you know he'll keep it to himself. Or at least cover it in extravagant lies.

You make your way to the Hanged Man with your canvas rucksack over your shoulder. The smell of the place overwhelms you: stale piss, vomit, beer, whiskey, sweaty bodies – it's all so very familiar. It fills you with warmth. You seek Varric out in his suite, and he's there, drinking and going over documents. He's happy to see you. He pours you a drink, his treat, and asks you what you've been up to. You regale him with tales of the sea, just as you regaled your sailors with tales of Kirkwall.

After some time you finally ask what you want to know.

"How is Hawke? Merrill?"

They're still up in Hightown. They're way less annoying than they used to be. They don't giggle and ignore everyone anymore. They're no longer "new love." Fenris and Anders both still brood. Anders is worse than he was. Aveline and Donnic married. You mention the friend-fiction you had written about them. Varric smiles. He kept it, so as to keep it away from Aveline. It was good, though, so he couldn't bring himself to burn it for her.

"Plus, you never know when you're going to have to blackmail the guard captain."

You chuckle. Varric will never need to blackmail the guard captain. Despite his roguish ways, everything he does is legal, if barely so. _You_ are the one who found yourself thrown in a cell a time or two, after a drunken brawl, or that time Aveline finally figured out you were behind a crime streak in Hightown. Those silly nobles really ought to learn how to lock all their doors. Who comes in to steal through the front? You went in through the kitchen, or a window, as did your girls you found and trained in the art of theivery. Really, you did the nobles a favor. They're safer now, and no one was killed in order to learn that lesson.

You sit for a while longer with Varric, thinking about asking Corf for your old room – at your old rate, of course – when a familiar voice sounds from the entrance to Varric's suite.

"Isabela?"

Your heart falls through your stomach. It's Marian. You turn in your seat, find her standing there, tall and strapping in fine black hose and a red silk jacket. The hilt of the longsword she wields rests comfortably at her hip. She has a scar across the bridge of her nose, from cheek to cheek, from her fight with the Arishok. It suits her. The whole look suits her. She is nobility incarnate, whether or not she was highborn.

Your tongue is dry; sticks in your mouth. You cannot speak past the lump in your throat. You work your mouth like a fish out of water. You are a deer who has spotted a hunter, arrow poised for the kill, unable to move or think or _do anything_.

"Hawke! Look whose ship is wintering in Kirkwall!" Bless Varric. He knows just how to save you.

"Is that it then? Your friends didn't bring you back? You're just here because you can't get to the next port?"

No. No, Varric hasn't saved you. You swallow, but Marian has already turned, striding back out. You're on your feet, your rucksack and fancy hat forgotten on Varric's table as you chase after her.

"Wait!" you yell, finally able to speak past the dryness in your throat. "Marian!"

She turns, furious. " _What?_ "

You fumble for words. You're never at a loss for them, but never have you had to speak of these kinds of feelings, of things you don't want to want. What do you say?

"I know you're angry. I'm… sorry I left." It is all you can manage.

It is not enough. Marian is furious. "That's it? That's all you have to say? You abandoned us, Isabela! You didn't even say anything that night! And you didn't say goodbye to Merril _at all_! Do you realize how she cried? Anders, Fenris, Aveline… they're whatever. But you left me and Merrill and Varric without _any_ words!"

You slump. You are defeated. Her words blister your soul. How can she speak her feelings so well and you are left with nothing? Her words are a dagger she wields. You never could do that. Not with honest words, anyhow. Lies rarely cut so deep as the truths that Marian wields.

She stalks closer, looking down upon you. She accuses you with her eyes. You are outside the Hanged Man now, in the dark streets of Lowtown. The smells and the sounds are hauntingly familiar. Marian's scent and the sound of her breathing is hauntingly familiar. She is so close you can touch her.

You do so. You reach out a hand, surprisingly steady, and fist that finery in your weather-roughened fingers and you pull her close and you kiss her. You pour everything you can muster into that kiss. You are gratified when Marian's hands reach around you and meet in the small of your back, pulling you close. You whimper at the feel of her body, hard and unyielding against your own. Her lips sear, her tongue claims, and her grip is iron.

You part, panting, looking up into those blue eyes, searching for… you aren't sure what.

Marian's face shows wonder, confusion, but no longer anger. Her grip has loosened, but she has not released you. "It was me? Not Merrill?"

You shake your head. She needs to understand. "Both," you croak. You reach behind you, take her hands, lower them from your waist. She allows it, merely staring down at you as you take a step back.

"Goodbye, Marian," you say. You're not running, but you are removing yourself from her happiness. It's better this way, right?

"Wait! Isabela!"

You stop, turn, heart racing again as she comes close once more. "I… we should speak. I need to get Merrill, talk to her. But… that can't be the end of it."

"Fine. Whatever you want." It is all out in the open now. You're done running, you're done pretending.

"Tonight, in a few hours. Here, at the Hanged Man. Your old room?"

You nod. "If it's still available. My ship just docked a few hours ago. I haven't asked about accommodations yet."

She nods. "I'll find you. Just…" Her hand reaches out, moves a stray lock of hair from your cheek. Then her fingers dance delicately along your neck, your throat, and she smiles, a tentative thing. She is unsure like a child with his first crush. "Stay put this time. Give us a chance to… _talk_."

You tremble at the light contact, nod, turn, re-enter the tavern. You go straight to Corf, inquire about your old room. You go there immediately, find it largely unchanged. Yes, many people have slept here since, but the smells of the rotted wood are the same. There's a new candle in the corner. The chamber pot and the wash basin are stained darker than they were when you left.

Such details to notice.

Nora comes to the door with your hat and your rucksack. She also bears a pitcher and two glasses. You are confused but accept a drink with her. You were friends before. You even gave her a toe-curling orgasm or two when you first arrived in Kirkwall. You drink, she smiles, flirts, and then opens her mouth and you are _all ears_.

"You're not the only one who's wintering in Kirkwall," she says, walking her fingers up your arm. You allow the flirting, but you pay close attention to her words. "An Antivan at the Rose has mentioned your name. Calls himself Velasco. Says you're linked to the qunari shit-show a couple years back."

 _Shit. If Velasco's here, so is Castillon. I have to… I have to…_

"Lots of people talk about me," you say, wrapping your arm around her waist. You stand and take her with you, press yourself close, walk to the door. "You are a breath of fresh air after a month at sea, sweet thing, believe me." You open the door. "But I have friends coming and if I'm going to have you… I want to take my time." She flushes as you lean close. "But thank you for the information. I'll make it up to you somehow."

She smirks and takes her leave. You know Nora well enough to know that, while she'd accept if you wanted to bed her again, the flirtations were a show for anyone who might be listening outside the door. You think. You could go to Varric, but…

"Marian. She's the only one who has the influence to fuck with Castillon."

You grab a few supplies, mainly weapons, and run. You run all the way to Hightown. Spending your time on a ship instead of drinking all day has improved your endurance. You launch yourself at the door to the mansion and let yourself in, finally slowing as you enter the greatroom of the estate.

You are momentarily overpowered by the familiar atmosphere. Your eyes seek out your target, however, and you find the both of them talking, murmuring to each other, at the top of the stairs.

"Marian!"

They both start, and are downstairs in a hurry. Merrill flings herself into your arms, and you hold her, too distracted by what's going on with Castillon to do anything but hold her and stroke her hair.

"You couldn't wait for us to come to you? I admit I never thought you'd come seek us out. Time has changed you, Isabela." Marian is smiling. She is happy with the change she perceives.

And you have you shatter it.

"I… Look, I got some information while I was waiting. Castillon… he's here. He's _in_ Kirkwall!"

Marian frowns. "So this isn't about…"

"It's about my kidneys staying inside me!" You fix her with a pleading look. "I returned the Tome to save you both. Knowing this day would come. And now it's here. I can't… I can't love you if I'm dead!"

The room rings with your last declaration. Merrill pulls away, puts her warm hands on your face, draws you down. She places the lightest of kisses on your lips before fixing you with those large green eyes. You are powerless to look anywhere else.

"We remove this threat," she says, and her familiar voice is sweet on your ears after so long not hearing it. "We stamp it out. And then we talk."

You are powerless to do anything but nod. A plan is made: you will be the bait. Marian dons her armor, while Merrill leaves ahead of you. She will stake out the Rose and follow once you are taken. Then she will signal Marian, and the two of them will bring your weapons and rescue you.

You are literally to be saved by the two women you love. And who… well, you're not sure if they love you, as well. But they certainly haven't thrown you out on your ass, and that is more than you ever could have hoped for.

* * *

It takes them longer than you would have liked to reach the filthy warehouse Velasco drags you to. The Antivan leans too close, his breath foul, rancid. You always know a piss-pot thief who pretends at finery and nobility but doesn't know what they're doing: they know how to wash, but they don't think to care for their foul mouths. It is so with Velasco. He has money and position that he was not born with, but his teeth are worse than a back-alley whore's.

Suddenly the wall next to you feels too hot and you push away from it, just in time for it to catch fire. Velasco is caught in the blaze, and he screams. You kick him in the groin, and then Marian is there, and Merrill is up on the walkway, tossing you a wrapped bundle. You free your weapons from it and spring, hamstringing Velasco before he can recover. Then he is dead. His henchmen are dead. You waste no time, even as Marian is asking you questions. You must find something on Castillon. You must get him and those allied with him off your back. Killing him isn't good enough. Someone else will try to off you. You must blackmail him so he'll call _everyone_ off your trail.

 _I could have him throw in his pretty ship to the deal, too_. _I always did like it._

That's the Isabela to which we're all accustomed. Always pushing for a little more. Glad to see you haven't lost your touch.

You blackmail Castillon and he gives you his ship. Marian doesn't understand, but she goes along with it until you can explain. She always was accommodating like that. Merrill stays in the shadows, trailing you as Castillon leads you to the ship. He gathers his things, takes his men with him, and then leaves you standing in the captain's cabin. The ship is yours.

You're free.

A weight lifts off you. You feel lighter than you have in years. Marian must be able to see it because she smiles and before you know it she is sweeping you into a kiss, and those long, strong arms are the anchor that keeps you from floating away.

"I thought we were supposed to talk?" you say, pulling back. But then another pair of hands is on your waist and you are encircled.

"We talked, 'Bela. If you want in… there's room for you here."

No more words are said. They've always failed you anyway. You surrender to Marian's kiss, to Merrill's embrace. You find yourself in your new bed and clothes are removed and it is everything you could have hoped it would be and more. These women are loving you and letting you love them in turn. You took a risk and it is rewarded.

More will need to be discussed, but that can happen later. For now, you smile as you are enveloped in loving arms and the mingled scent of those with whom you would face the world. This is better than you could have imagined. You don't know what the future will bring. You don't care. You can face it. No more running. This… this is all yours, to share with these wonderful women.

And you are to be shared among them. The thought brings a smile to your lips. You are free. You accepted your love and it has set you _free_.


End file.
